Cedar and Bergamot
by AleisterCrowleySnow
Summary: The morning after Baz leaves for the holiday break, Simon has a dream about him...
1. Chapter 1

Simon woke up more confused than he ever had before.

He'd never had a dream like _that_ before.

Baz had been front and center in his nightmares for so long. He'd been the enemy since the day Simon had met him. Perhaps even before that day.

Baz had _literally_ tried to _murder_ him before.

But there were gray areas now. There was no denying that things were different lately. The two had called a temporary truce, and Baz wasn't so... _evil_ anymore. Penny had admitted that Baz wasn't as bad as she'd thought. Being on his side was... different. He wasn't constantly worrying about where he was or what he was doing (although he would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy knowing). Baz had even invited him home for the holidays. If they had met under different circumstances, with different names, they might even have been friends.

It gave Simon a lot to think about.

And dream about, apparently.

Maybe his brain was just confused by everything happening lately.

Why else would he think about his roommate like _that_?

Why would he think about dancing with him at the leaver's ball?

Correction- _dream_. He hadn't thought about it consciously.

Well, now he was.

He stared at Baz's empty bed. The room felt emptier without the other boy there smell had lingered, though. It was never really gone. Simon never minded it. Actually, he almost _liked_ it?

Christ. What was _wrong_ with him?

Why was he so _tempted_ when Baz asked him to his house for the winter?

And why did he feel better whenever he knew where Baz was?

And sick when he thought about having to maybe fight him again someday?

Did he even hate Baz at all?

His brain told him _yes, always_ , but it didn't sound right anymore.

Why hadn't he _realized_ this before?

Well, probably because they were enemies. Yes, that was definitely it.

But Simon spent so much time and talking about Baz and looking for Baz and ignoring Baz and _thinking about Baz, Baz, Baz_.

 _Baz_...

There was _definitely_ something wrong with Simon.

If Baz knew he was thinking about him like this, he would probably call an end the truce and off him right on the spot.

When Simon went to bed that night, it was with a horrible feeling of shame-and admittedly an even stronger sense of longing, even if he wasn't yet sure what it was for.


	2. Chapter 2

It was only when he was on the train to Winchester that Simon remembered his dream. He'd gotten so overwhelmed at the Nicodemus news that he'd forgotten. And even though he was sitting on a train, and still at least twenty minutes from the stop, his cheeks turned red as holly berries and gasped aloud (a woman a few seats down from him moved away at this).

How could he just jump on a train so thoughtlessly? He was now speeding towards his enemy's home at—how fast did trains go? Why didn't he know the speed of trains? Why didn't anyone talk about it? Who determined what a safe train speed was? They seemed to be going pretty fast? What if the train crashed and he never got to tell Baz—

Tell Baz _what_?

That he'd imagined waltzing around a courtyard at Watford with him, closer than the two had ever been, and Baz was wearing this dark green suit that fit him _very_ nicely and—

Since when did Simon think about how clothes fit Baz?

Or, you know, Baz holding him, Baz whispering in his ear, Baz grinning at him, Baz laughing, _Baz holding_ himand Simon _enjoying it_.

The dream had been a couple of nights ago, but it still sent Simon's heart racing. In a _good_ way. A way that made him _want_ to think about the dream more.

How fucked up was that? How fucked up was _he_?

The entire five-mile walk to the Grimm family home Simon was more focused on Baz than on the cold. (To be fair, he usually thought about Baz quite a bit, but never like _this_ ).

He was expecting Baz to be the one who opened the door, for some reason, and so when it opened, he sort of yelled out the boy's name, half out of excitement and half out of cold.

But it was a maid, and now a very confused one. "You're here to see Basilton?" she asked, not even bothering to hide her disgust at the mud Simon hadn't even noticed he'd picked up.

"I'm his roommate. Simon. Snow?"

She looked me up and down one more time and then nodded. "Stay on the mat," she instructed before disappearing.

When came downstairs, Simon's heart picked up speed once again. He immediately felt less cold. Baz was wearing _jeans_ because he was trying to _kill_ Simon or something.

(Simon tried to remind himself, once again, that he actually _had_ attempted to kill him before, but it didn't matter anymore. It was a battle that Simon had already lost.)

"Snow," he says, and Simon couldn't help but stare at him. He walked down the stairs with such _grace_. Merlin, no one should look that good walking down the stairs.

" _Baz_ ," he whispered, and the longing was back, and it wasn't going anywhere.


	3. Chapter 3

Even though Simon shared a room with Baz at school, it was quite another matter entirely being in his room at his house. It was startling how impersonal it was—if _he_ had ever had a bedroom of his own, he would fill it with football posters and pictures of him and Penny, or something.

But Baz's room was completely empty. Everything in it looked ancient and oversized. It was no surprise—what he saw of the rest of the house was the same way. The Grimms of all people could afford furniture, so he guessed it was something about family heritage and pride (something Simon could not relate to at all).

Simon counted sixteen gargoyles on his bed (and wasn't even halfway done yet) when Baz said, in that comfortably scornful voice of his, "You did have a point in coming here, right? It wasn't just to stare at my bed?"

Baz was standing behind him, halfway between him and the closed door (which Simon was hyperaware of).

"No, it… wasn't. Can I sit? I've been walking forever," Simon replied, taking a seat on Baz's ridiculously high bed without waiting for an answer.

Baz rolled his eyes and Simon caught himself lingering on them. They blinked at him and looked down.

"There's been… ah, an interesting development," Simon said, staring at his crossed ankles, trying to forget about the snug jeans and focus on Nicodemus. "You… may want to sit down."

"Just tell me," Baz said impatiently, taking a step towards him. He was less than a foot away from the bed, and filled Simon's senses. The boy looked up again, and Baz was staring at him more intensely that he'd ever seen before.

Normally it would intimidate Simon, but now he couldn't stop thinking about how _sexy_ it was. And before he knew what was happening, he was biting his lip and sliding off the bed.

Baz glared down at him. "If you don't have—"

"Shut up, Baz." Baz's glare faltered as Simon took a deep breath.

"Snow," Baz whispered, shaking his head softly. "What… what are you doing?"

"I'm trying to focus," he whispered back. "Please, Baz, just stop talking."

Baz blinked again, slowly, uneasily, and ran his fingers through his dark hair. Simon had never seen him look anywhere near so uncertain (or… _alluring_?). He wasn't sure he had enough restraint _not_ to kiss him, but then, he wasn't sure he had enough courage to do it, either. The room was huge and quiet but all he felt were Baz's gray eyes on him, and it was somewhat intimidating. Was he the only one thinking these thoughts? So he laced his fingers through Baz's.

"Do you want me to let go?" he whispered.

And Baz whispered back, " _Never_."

And then they were kissing.


End file.
